


Addicted To You

by TheRedGlass



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Bonnie & Clyde, Cartinelli - Freeform, F/F, Great Depression, Robbery, bonnie & clyde au, crime spree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedGlass/pseuds/TheRedGlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After suffering tragedy, Peggy is on a lonely multi-state crime spree. </p><p>Lonely, until she meets a waitress in a nowhere-diner who can see right through the hurt. Someone who might understand her. Someone fiery. Someone who knows what she needs. Someone who might make a good partner - in both senses of the term.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Know Just How It Happened

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sariane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/gifts).



> Inspired by Avicii's music video for their song ["Addicted To You."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qc9c12q3mrc)
> 
> This is my first Cartinelli fic, and my first f/f story. Fingers crossed it came out of my head and into a document the way I hoped it would!
> 
> I heartily apologize for any timeline errors - I spent an hour trying to figure out what one might serve at a bar/restaurant in the 1930s in the rural midwest and couldn't find much. If you know of good resources for this time period, please feel free to send them my way! I would be most appreciative.
> 
> You can find me and more of my Cartinelli enthusiasm on [tumblr](thereddestglass.tumblr.com).

Peggy Carter took one last drag of her cigarette before she rolled down the driver’s window of the black Wanderer she drove one-handed and flicked the ashy remains outside, ignoring the blast of winter air that clawed its way inside. She left the window partway down as she slowly blew a column of smoke from between lips painted a cherry red, watching the smoke roll away towards the ceiling of the vehicle. The snowy countryside stretched on for miles, dry brush bristling out of the banks here and there, the horizon interrupted with low hills on one side. Peggy watched the white blanketed scenery roll away without change on either side of the car, her gaze dull and bored. The icy breeze from her opened window tugged at her dark hair tucked under a soft fawn colored hat and tried to crawl down under the collar of her matching coat and sweater, but she shrugged deeper into the coat rather than put the window up. The air kept her alert, helped her think.

The radio was on low, mostly static touched with the occasional strains of some swing band or another. She eyed the setting sun with disinterest, listening to squeak of the snow under her tires. Then her stomach growled, and she sighed and eyed the dwindling pile of cash on the passenger seat. She didn’t want to stop, but it was getting to the point where she would no longer have a choice. The needle on the gas gauge conspired to that end, too. She drummed the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel. 

America’s midwest stretched out empty for miles around, and she was just on the edge of real worry when finally there was a sign announcing the next chance to escape the endless scrolling of the highway, printed with the name of yet another nothing little town that she didn’t bother to commit to memory or even really process. She nudged the steering wheel so the vehicle jumped to the exit lane and tapped the gas as she coasted away from the highway and onto a badly plowed road that was badly paved underneath the snow. She grit her teeth in irritation as she slowed the car even more. There was a loose scattering of buildings there, old and too tired to even attempt to vie for the attention of the few vehicles that sailed past on the main road. She had to squint to make out the faded painted signs. She identified a gas station that appeared to be closed, but at this point, her stomach was honestly the more pressing concern. She couldn’t remember if she’d eaten before or after the last...withdrawal. But either way, that was almost a day and a half ago. The cigarettes took the edge off, helped her keep moving, only stopping for fuel and not long enough for anyone to get a really good look at her, but they couldn’t totally replace food. The bar didn’t look like anything special, but she could see lights on and there was the smell of cooking grease in the air. It would serve her purposes.

Hell, if it had a decent amount of business, it might serve two purposes...

She parked the car in the lot outside, finally rolling up the window before she stepped out, wrapping her coat more securely around her as her heels sank softly into the drifts of snow. She politely knocked that snow off her shoes as she stepped inside the bar and was greeted by a wave of warm air scented with smoke and stale bodies and overcooked food. It was an oddly welcome change from the endless ribbon of road and frigid air. 

Instinctively, she took stock of the layout of the building, the people present, cataloguing every detail and assessing its strategic value. A handful of older men sat laughing at a table in a corner. Three middle aged men loitered around a pool table, talking more than playing. Two men of indeterminate ages - she couldn’t get a good look with their backs to her and at this distance - were on stools up against the bar, stooped forward as the scraggly-bearded bartender dried off a glass while recounting some story. There was a large open space in one wall, through which she could make out the shapes of silver kitchen equipment and a man in a vaguely white apron. She paused in the entry for a few moments, committing all these details to memory, then made her way to a small unoccupied table of questionable cleanliness and sat down, unbuttoning her coat but leaving her hat and scarf in place. All the better to slip out on a moment’s notice.

She was slipping off her gloves, squinting at the crumbs left on the tabletop and contemplating what approach to use on the bartender when she inquired about the meal options, when directly to her left a voice tinged with a confident New York flavor announced “Well aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes.”

She looked up, fully prepared to sweet talk or skull bash as the man and the situation required, but in her distraction, her brain had not registered that the voice was female and she found herself looking up into the face of a blue eyed brunette in a tired blue dress covered with an equally tired white apron, one hand on her hip as she gazed back with a poise that belied her uniform.

Peggy Carter was not easily flustered, but she suddenly found herself grasping without real success at simple vocabulary. “Pard- excuse...me?” she sputtered out.

The waitress hooked her thumb in the direction of the groups of men behind her, her expression dull, her voice unimpressed. “That’s what I’m usually lookin’ at.”

Peggy cast a quick glance at the men she indicated before she looked back at the waitress before her. “I, ah, I see.” She had her voice mostly under control again.

The woman gave her a little smirking, resting most of her weight on one leg while she casually held up a small notebook with a stub of a pencil hovering over its surface. “What can I get ya?”

“What do you have?” Peggy folded her hands, one over the other, for some reason still having trouble making eye contact with this woman. Maybe it was the shocking effect of her personality, when she’d spent the past month having as little contact as possible with other people, and those she had been forced to interact with had been dull, featureless, more practice sketches than real people at all. 

Sketching had been a poor metaphor to use because it made her throat tight and her eyes sting and she had to wrestle that emotion back into its box while still smiling politely at the young woman in the apron.

“Not much” she said flatly. “And meatloaf with mashed potatoes or chicken soup with biscuits is all I’m gonna recommend. They’re just this side of edible.”

Peggy blinked. “Are...does the chef know you’re this...honest?”

The waitress snorted. “Chef, please. He knows which end of the stove is hot, and that’s bein’ generous.”

Further taken aback, it took Peggy several more long moments before she was able to respond. “Chicken soup then, if you please.”

She looked down at her notepad and scribbled something that couldn’t be legible. “You got it, English.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow.

“You are English, right?” the waitress asked. “Nobody around here speaks that nice. Sounds like you walked right outta Shakespeare.”

She found that hard to believe, given how badly she’d been stuttering, thrown off by this woman who seemed to approach everything at one hundred miles an hour. “Yes,” she admitted slowly. “I...originally lived in England.”

She smiled. “Thought so,” she replied, and she turned to head towards the space in the wall that divided the kitchen from the rest of the room.

Peggy finally managed to pull herself together completely, to access her full vocabulary, to get her own confidence back. “And what should I call you?” she called after her waitress.

The man in the kitchen yelled something impatient and demanding at her, but nevertheless she turned and smiled. “You can call me Angie,” she said, and she tossed in a wink so small and quick Peggy couldn’t be sure she’d seen it at all. 

Peggy sat startled as she watched Angie walk away. She’d spent the past month making sure she kept everyone at arm’s length, not even exchanging pleasantries with the clerks before she went about her business. One horrible afternoon had taught her that goodness in this world was artificial, that everyone was either out for themselves or about to become a victim to those who were. She didn’t make jokes anymore, had traded friendliness and politeness for a grimness that came all too easily these days. And everyone seemed to read that silent warning perfectly, and they kept their distance.

But not this waitress, not this woman, Angie. It was as though she could see right through the dark cloud Peggy kept wrapped around her for protection. And, strangely, Peggy found that she might...be all right with that. She shook her head a little, firmly reminding herself that she had business to attend to, that she could not afford distractions, that every person was an accident waiting to happen. 

Even if something about Angie made her feel strange, though in a good way...in the way that someone else had...

She shook her head again, concentrating on the cracked pattern of the tabletop. She knew better.

But when Angie smiled at her...she could almost forget why she had a gun in her purse.


	2. I Let Down My Guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you who've been so kind as to read and leave kudos and comments! I was so nervous about writing Cartinelli but your enthusiasm has been very encouraging.
> 
> I want to apologize for rushing the content of this chapter - I'm so eager to write some of the other chapters that I've really had to make myself slow down and set up the backstory. Hopefully it didn't turn out too badly?
> 
> Feel free to come geek out with me about Cartinelli on [tumblr](http://thereddestglass.tumblr.com)!

The soup was thin and a little greasy, but the biscuits (the American kind, English biscuits would not have paired well with soup of any caliber) were light and fluffy. At least the food was hot, Peggy thought to herself as she forced herself to eat slowly. She hadn’t realized just how long it had been since she’d eaten, and once presented with food, her body was screaming at her to inhale it before it disappeared. But she knew better, and fed herself with disciplined sips instead.

She tried to apply the same principle to the waitress.

Maddening. That’s the only word she had for the way that woman - Angie - had knocked her sideways like that, assumed a kind of familiarity and simply waltzed right into the closed off bubble that was Peggy’s current existence. It didn’t make any sense. She kept forcing herself to look away as the woman worked wiping down tables and removing dirty dishes at the other end of the room, her gaze drawn to her again and again for some inexplicable reason.

The men in the bar seemed to have gotten Peggy’s unspoken ‘leave-me-the-hell-alone’ message - none of them had done anything more than glance her way once or twice. So why hadn’t Angie gotten that same message?

Or, perhaps, she had gotten it, and had simply chosen to ignore it.

If the latter, it begged the question why. What did this woman hope to gain? There wasn’t a chance she was on to her...was there? She scoffed internally, nibbling at a carrot from the soup. There had been no radio news, the papers this far out wouldn’t have covered any of the incidents, and her last two hits hadn’t even gotten a good look at her face. Word would not have spread that quickly. At any rate, if the woman continued prying, things could become dangerous. For the both of them.

She let out a soft sigh and trailed her spoon through the lukewarm soup, suddenly beset with a weariness as solid as a wool blanket. She had lost track of how long she’d been driving, hours and miles all melting together in a dizzying buzz. Her eyes prickled and it was becoming harder and harder to even sit upright. Coffee...she would need several cups of coffee before she could even think about getting back on the road. It was getting dark quickly, and she wearily cussed out the many curses of the American winter season.

“Don’t drown in it.”

Peggy jumped hard enough to drop her silverware with a clatter, eyes flashing wide as Angie plunked down in the chair across from her and casually propped her chin in her hands, staring pleasantly back at her.

“I-what-”

“Your chin was nearly in that soup.” The waitress’ eyes glittered with a teasing shine. 

Peggy straightened up, brushing a hand over her face, trying to stretch surreptitiously. “I suppose so,” she said softly. “It...has been a long day.”

“Looks like.” She nodded at the soup. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh.” Peggy waved a hand in dismissal, glancing around the bar uncertainly, suddenly hyperaware of how close the other woman was. “No, no, it’s quite all right.”

“That’s a lie, I serve the slop all day, I know better.”

There was that blatant honesty again. Peggy had to take another moment to just look at her, attempting to process. “I don’t mean to sound rude,” she said. “But...won’t the cook be displeased that you’re...not...working?”

One eyebrow quirked up. “Does it look like we’re busy in here English?”

Peggy had to concede that point, her eyes wandering around the room.

“Besides, like he can say anything, half the day he spends reading pulp magazines - it’s Dime Detective this week.” Angie leaned back in the chair, tossing the cloth she’d been cleaning with onto the top of the table and glancing casually over her shoulder - almost like she was daring the man to say anything. But he didn’t so much as glance her way. She smirked. “Told you.”

Peggy almost smiled in return, and she made a half-hearted attempt to return to her soup.

The waitress suddenly leaned forward again, elbows on the table, studying Peggy intently. “So, English. Where ya from? Well I mean apart from the obvious.”

“London,” she confirmed, giving up on the soup and returning to the biscuit.

“So what brings you way out here? Where you headed to?”

She paused uneasily. “Just...passing through.”

Angie laughed at that. “Hon, everyone is. Have you seen this place? Not exactly a prime vacation spot. No one wants to be here.” She gave her a significant look. “No one.”

“It is rather desolate,” Peggy agreed, nibbling with disinterest at the last of her food, trying to think of a polite way to end the conversation.

“So come on. Where ya headed?” She fixed her bright eyes on her. “Hollywood?”

She frowned. “Hollywood? Why would you say that?”

“C’mon English, you’ve got legs for days.”

Peggy choked on her soup.

Angie helped herself to some of Peggy’s biscuit as she tried to recover. “Well I’m not wrong,” she said flatly. “But okay, if not Hollywood, then what?”

She cleared her throat. “Wha-why does it matter?”

“Can’t a girl ask questions? Come on, this place is a ghost town, I could use some entertainment.”

Peggy’s stomach turned unpleasantly. “It’s really not important, just...sort of passing through.”

“Please, everybody’s got a story, you don’t end up way out here without one.”

“It’s not important.”

“That’s not true-”

“-it is for me,” Peggy replied firmly, with more of an edge to her voice than she’d meant.

Angie paused, went quiet, and Peggy felt a little guilty. The woman was only trying to be friendly - it wasn’t her fault that Peggy was dragging in a trail of dark secrets.

“Fine, all right,” Anglie replied coolly, settling back in her chair, flicking at a crumb on the tabletop with her fingernail. “Just trying to make conversation.”

Peggy played with her silverware, now feeling uneasy for two reasons. The first person who’d shown her any real kindness or friendship in quite some time and she’d shut her out completely. It was for her protection, but she couldn’t know that.

“I’m sorry,” Peggy finally said quietly, just as Angie moved to get up from the table. “It’s just...it’s been...a long few weeks. And that isn’t your fault, I didn’t mean to take it out on you...”

Angie sat back down, giving Peggy an encouraging little smile. “Trust me English, I’ve heard a lot worse.” She paused. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

Peggy shook her head.

Angie nodded. “Okay,” she said softly, gently. “Not everyone’s story is a good one, I understand.”

“Thank you,” Peggy replied, her voice even softer. 

Angie smiled and used the wet cloth in her hand wipe up a few drops of soup from around the bowl. “So,” she said. “How’s the driving then?”

Peggy shrugged. “I suppose it could be worse. No snowstorms for the moment.”

“And that is always welcome news out here. I swear every time I look out the window there’s another foot. Speaking of.” She nodded in Peggy’s direction. “Is there anything else I can get you? Soup probably wasn’t all that warm.”

“I don’t suppose there’s tea,” Peggy asked, without any real hope in her voice.

“Nope, sorry English. We’re not classy enough for that,” Angie said with a grin.

Peggy attempted a smile of her own. “Coffee then?”

“Coffee it is.” Angie hopped up, still smiling, and strode off to the kitchen.

Peggy watched her push through the half door, arguing with the cook as he started to lecture her about something that she couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was, Angie held her own, sassing back at the man. Peggy let out a small sigh, trying to clear her head. She had to admit, it was nice to sit and talk with someone again, like nothing was wrong, like she could still have a personal connection with someone and functional normally in the world. But to believe that would be to be functionally delusional. She had no choice. She had to press on.

Even if something about Angie made her feel connected to something, someone, for the first time in a long time. Even if part of her wanted to stay and find out more, to find out why Angie made her feel...something. She didn’t understand, and part of her wanted answers.

But she didn’t have time.

And she wouldn’t let someone else get hurt. Not again.

“Cream?”

Peggy looked up from the table to see Angie standing there with a steaming mug and a small pitcher.

She forced a smile. “Please.”

Angie sat back down, pouring a generous amount of cream into the mug of coffee. Peggy watched, almost transfixed, as the dark brown liquid bloomed with white that then marbled into a soft khaki hue. Angie pushed it across the table towards her, carefully, and just as carefully Peggy picked it up and took slow, cautious sips, pursing her lips at the bitter flavor.

“Tolerable?”

“Tolerable,” Peggy admitted. She cleared her throat. “How much do I owe you? I should get back on the road.”

Angie’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “What, now?”

She nodded.

“English, it’s getting dark out there.”

“I’ve driven at night before, it’s quite all right.”

“You’re falling asleep just sitting there, no way you’re driving, that’s crazy.”

“Well, I have coffee now.”

“Not gonna be enough.” Angie leaned forward. “Hey, English. C’mon. It’s not safe.” 

Peggy paused to consider. She’d lost track of how long she’d been driving. Her eyes itched and her head felt heavy, and she had to admit that she did not look forward to getting back into that car. 

“I suppose not,” she admitted with a defeated sigh. She rubbed her thumb along the edge of the mug. If she was honest with herself, all she wanted at the moment was warmth and a bed and to not have to think for a while. The more distance she put between herself and the last stop, the better, but there were limits to her own abilities and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken more than a few hours sleep. Maybe if she gave in, took a night off, she could jump back in to her mission with renewed purpose, some real energy... “Where might I find a hotel around here?”

Angie quickly shook her head. “Only one of those around here but you do not want to stay there. It’s overpriced and under-cleaned.”

Peggy managed a small smile. “I don’t require much.”

“No no, the management’s awful and there’s been half a dozen fights in the parking lot in the past month, it’s not safe.”

Peggy frowned. “Well, where else is there to stay?”

Angie grinned widely and tapped the top of the table as she got up. “Let me clock out and get my keys, I’ve got a trundle bed.”

Peggy was too shocked to say anything for a moment as the waitress started to walk away, then she managed to sputter, “Angie!”

She turned back, still grinning. “Yeah?”

Peggy shook her head, trying to process what she’d just done, essentially invited her into her home without even waiting for an answer. “I don’t even know you, I can’t just...stay in your home!”

“Why not?” She shrugged. “Us gals have to look after each other.”

A dozen reasons why this was a terrible idea flashed through Peggy’s head but she couldn’t seize them to articulate them. “Angie-”

“C’mon, you’ve seen how empty this place is, I could use some excitement in my life.” She took steps back to the table. “You don’t have to talk about why you’re out here, or where you’re going, not if you don’t want to.” She stared back at Peggy with a look of deep sincerity that she hadn’t expected. “But we all get lonely, and you’d be doing me a favor, honestly. Besides, I’ve got half a pie we can eat.”

She knew she should say no. The whole situation was so absurd. But instead, she found herself nodding. 

“Great!” Angie’s grin bloomed across her face once more. “Let’s get out of here.” And with that she turned and sauntered back to the kitchen one more time.

Peggy paid for her meal and the next thing she knew she was sitting back in her car with the strange woman in the seat beside her, calling out directions. “So nice not to have to catch a ride with Mary for once,” Angie murmured after she’d directed Peggy to take a turn. “She’s nice, sure, but there’s only so many times a girl can hear her lecture about how girls my age who aren’t married turn into ugly spinsters before you want to tear your hair out.”

Peggy smiled to herself. Maybe this really wasn’t the worst idea.

Angie’s place was above a tiny convenience shop on a mostly empty street that ran parallel to a set of train tracks. “Shouldn’t be anything running til morning, but I apologize if a train wakes you. I don’t even hear it anymore,” she said as the climbed the stairs and fiddled with her keys to get the door open. 

“So it’s not much,” Angie said, leading her inside and gesturing around the place with a sweep of her arms. “But it’s a lot better than the hotel, I promise you that.”

“I truly appreciate this,” Peggy said, looking around as she set her bag on the kitchen table. “You didn’t have to-”

“I know,” Angie said, tossing the cap she’d been wearing at the diner onto a counter. She smiled. “I wanted to.” She hesitated, then added, “I don’t wanna pry, but...it really seemed like you needed a friend right now.”

A thousand memories assaulted her at once, and she was too tired to push them all back in their box just then. “You may be right.”

Angie gave her an encouraging grin. “And that’s why we have pie. If you want to wash up, bathroom’s down the hall there.”

Peggy nodded and slipped off her coat and went to make use of the bathroom. She washed her face in the sink, taking stock of her features in the mirror. The weeks had not been kind to her, and there was only so much makeup could cover up. She sighed and dried her face and hands and walked back to the kitchen.

She made it as far as the doorway before she realized that Angie was standing frozen next to the table...Peggy’s bag knocked over on the table and its inanimate secrets spilled out across the surface.

Peggy felt her heart stop, then defy gravity to climb up and sit heavy in her throat. The sudden silence in the room pressed incessantly on her ears with a kind of buzz. She had to force herself to try and take small steps into the room, because it seemed her limbs had turned to stone and her joints were simply frozen.

Angie cradled the gun gingerly and uncertainly in her palm, as though it were glass and not steel and as if it was the first weapon she had ever seen. Her other hand was curled loosely around a fat stack of hundreds, the wrapper from the bank still affixed to the middle.

She looked up at Peggy, her gaze utterly unreadable but her voice soft and inquisitive. “English? You wanna talk about this?”


End file.
